


Enchanted

by StilesStylelinski (kieren_Freaking_Walker)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Magic, Magic!Stiles, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-12 22:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15349701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kieren_Freaking_Walker/pseuds/StilesStylelinski
Summary: When Stiles Stilinski was thrown up and emerged from a pile of sickly bandages, no one really took much time to consider...what EXACTLY happened.The body that had been HIS, shattered at their feet, and Stiles was left with what? A duplication body?At first he’d thought the Nogitsune’s magic had done this, but...what if it was a bit of something else as well? Something keeping him HERE long after the Nogitsune’s departure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So parts of this are roughly inspired by a role play I once did with a really lovely Derek. More to come

 

“Stiles— _Look_ , I Know this isn’t ideal for you...but you need somewhere to stay, and someone to keep an eye on...on whatever the hell is going on.” Derek sighed, gesturing to the reluctantly packed bags Stiles had just begrudgingly dumped in the middle of Derek’s remodelled loft.

What had been a cold and well, unwelcoming space, was now homey—ish. In the 6 months that had passed since the Nogitsune, Derek Hale had temporarily moved out of his loft, to have it converted into something that felt more permanent. A promise to those around him, that he wouldn’t disappear. There was a kitchen with a breakfast bar and granite bench-tops, and where the old spiral staircase had lead only to where Derek used to sleep, that whole upstairs had been turned into multiples bedrooms, and a small but functioning bathroom, while the other bathroom remained intact but upgraded on the bottom floor.

”No—it’s NOT ideal, because there’s literally _nothing_ wrong with me! I feel fine!” Stiles huffs, arms crossed over his chest. It wasn’t a lie, exactly, he was a little sore—and quite pale, but he was still kicking, and practically vibrating with excitement over recent events.

Derek looks pointedly at Stiles’ arm, which now housed a rather angry looking dark red welt—in the shape of a sigil. It would scar—most definitely, but Stiles didn’t care. If anything he liked to see it as a cool new tattoo, a celebration of finally being useful to the group. “ _Nothing wrong_?” Derek echoes, eyes narrowing slightly.

Stiles nods firmly “I dabbled, and it worked.” Why wasn’t that enough for anyone? Skinny defenceless Stiles had found a way to be useful—and now everyone was freaking out on him like goddamn maniacs.

Derek shakes his head with a grumble “You don’t know what you’re dabbling in! The internet is a dangerous place, Stiles!”

Oh god, here comes the lecture.

“Who the hell besides **you** thinks ‘ _Oh, the internet has spells. Maybe I should just give one a CRACK_!’? You could have been killed!” Derek shouts, arms still crossed tightly across his chest “Now I’m stuck babysitting you because another outburst could get your father hurt.”

Stiles’ glare is sharp when it lands on Derek. He would never intentionally hurt his father. “No one got hurt. It was harmless.”

Derek scoffs at that, shaking his head “Harmless? The windows in your house shattered, and you were found unconscious and with a bloody nose.” Derek couldn’t understand why Stiles couldn’t see the risks of this new-found...thing. It was dangerous—maybe not for those around him, but so far definitely to Stiles himself. “Care to explain?”

Stiles nods eagerly, as if relieved he was finally given a chance to explain to someone what had gone on—In his own words, not his fathers. “I...I can move things with my mind now.” _Okay, maybe not the best place to Start, Stiles._ “I found a...an incantation that is supposed to help you focus and channel any kind of energy you might have within you.” Stiles gestures to the angry welt on his arm. The sigil that meant ‘focus’

Derek seems unimpressed—but when wasn’t he? Tall and _stoic_ and oh-so-grumpy all the time. Stiles always thought it was exhausting to be Derek in that retrospect.

”Anyway—“ Stiles waves his hands in a noncommittal gesture that requested Derek to not interrupt “I then tried to channel...well, all that energy, and for a second I was levitating in my room—Not even joking. My feet were off the ground and it was amazing. Then I got too excited and...and things blew up.”

Derek is quiet for a very long time, running that information over and over in his head a good few times before he could say something that might come off insensitive or misunderstanding, even though sometimes he was definitely all of those things. Tall and broody on top of that. He runs a hand through his dark hair, pale eyes falling on Stiles, and his brows furrow “So...you’re telling me that you’re excited about all of this? About potentially being in life-threatening danger?”

Stiles nods, and Derek is reminded comically of a bobble-head knickknack “What if...what if I can help now? And not just...with the plans?” His eyes are hopeful “Maybe I can learn to control this energy?”

”Did it ever occur to you that what you’re toying with is essentially tied to your life force?” Derek asks bluntly, because from what he’d heard, and also the still-pale set of his cheeks, Derek was worried about Stiles.

What if it got worse than just nosebleeds? Fainting? What if he got sick?

Stiles opens his mouth for a quick and witting retort, but nothing comes. He just closes his mouth again and considers Dereks words, eyes drifting up to the ceiling, tongue sticking out and running across his lower lip—his usual ticks for thinking. “No.” Stiles concludes finally, looking a little less excited about it all now “No, I guess I didn’t consider that.”

Derek sighs, relief washing over him as his arms finally uncross from his chest “Well, get considering—and no more DABBLING. Not until we hear back from Deaton.”

“Deaton has been off the radar for months…I doubt he’s getting back to us.” Stiles mumbles, sitting down on one of his suitcases now, tracing the burning sigil on his arm.

As Derek watched, for a moment he could have sworn that Stiles’ eyes glowed a brighter whiskey gold—just for a moment, but it was gone before he could confirm it. “Stiles…how do you feel?” He asks hesitantly, and the tone in his voice has Stiles looking up from the sigil with confusion.

“Hmm?” Stiles glances back down at the sigil before stilling his hand and looking back up at Derek with as much attention as he could fix on him. Stiles’ head was constantly buzzing—thoughts segueing so fast he couldn’t always keep up with himself.

“I…I’m tired, I guess? And I don’t really want to be here intruding on your fancy new loft after…all those things I did.”

It takes Derek a moment to understand what he was talking about—He sits down on the arm of his sofa, and leans forward in a brief moment of sympathy “Stiles…what the Nogitsune did—that wasn’t _you_.” He says firmly, eyes seeking understanding and acceptance across Stiles’ face, but it doesn’t come.

Stiles’ tongue traces his lips in thought, as a hand absentmindedly goes to the back of his ear, tracing the backwards five there—the mark for self—. Just how much of who he was was left? “I was there for all of it. I _liked it_ , the feeling of being… _powerful_.”

Dereks eyes, that had some how transitioned to tracing the way Stiles’ tongue had moved across his lips, shook himself back to reality with a blink, and frowned “Power…power is a good seductress.” He says finally, echoing something his uncle that mentioned to him one, in private. Peter’s words always felt like venom on his lips—but there was always truth in his words, whether he liked it or not.

Stiles meets Dereks eyes finally, and he looks doubtful. Something had happened to him—something no one else wanted to talk about, but something he knew they all sensed.

They’d treated him differently since the Nogitsune was captured, since everything had come to an end.  
Stiles had watched his own body crumble into ashes and dust, and no one had said anything. That had been Stiles’ original vessel— _his body_ —and now it was gone.

The imitation body had been dying while the Nogitsune wreaked havoc on the town of Beacon Hills, and then somehow it had all just stopped.

The pain had come to a stand-still, and all he felt was…well, empty.

Himself, but empty.

“None of you understand what’s happening to me…but you’re all **scared** of me.”

Derek shakes his head “Stiles—we’re scared _for_ you.” He gets up off the sofa arm now and takes a few steps towards Stiles, gently taking his wrist in an attempt to get his point across.

Stiles snatches his wrist back, and Derek can definitely confirm the angry golden glow to Stiles’ eyes now—more intense than before. “What’s the difference?” Stiles demands.

The hair on the back of Derek’s neck stands on end—he can sense danger in the air. “Stiles…I need you to calm down…” He says calmly, glancing around the room.

The glass table a few feet to Derek’s left begins to rattle.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“I can’t—I don’t know how to control any of this…” He whispers, looking down at his hands as they begin to smoke—that was new.  
Flames begin to lick at his fingers, burning at his flesh, and he grits his teeth.

“Stiles—look at me.” Derek orders desperately, taking a step towards him. Hands gently grip his wrists.

Stiles tries to tug his wrists back as he looks up at Derek, but although the grip felt gentle, it was firm, and would not allow him escape. He tries to focus on Derek, but the pain keeps tearing his focus away—the white hot burning.

Without a word, Dereks hands move up Stiles’ wrists, and grip his flaming hands with his own. If he was in pain, he didn’t show it—he just held Stiles’ panicked gaze and tried to ground him.  
The fear of hurting Derek was enough to starve the flames into non-existence, but they had already done their damage.

Both of their hands were red with angry burns, but Derek didn’t seem angry. He just calmly lead a sniffling Stiles over to the kitchen sink, and turned on the cold water to calm the blistering that had already taken place.

Derek himself had already began to heal.

“I’m sorry…” Stiles whispers, understanding now why everyone was scared of him. He was unpredictable. Dangerous.

“Shush…” Derek mumbles, as he drags Stiles’ fingers into the water, and holds them there. “I heal. You don’t.”

But that didn’t make Stiles feel any better. Supernatural assholes with healing abilities aside—he’d still hurt him.

“Fire, huh? That’s a new one. I thought you said it was levitating?” Derek hums casually, in an attempt to put Stiles even just a little at ease. It doesn’t work.  
“Guess you’re growing into it all.”

“Growing into it? I’m a fucking danger to society.” Stiles says bluntly. Oh how fast someone’s outlook could change when reality came a-knocking.

Derek chews on his lip as he thinks for a moment, wracking his brains for the right thing to say—a thing that wouldn’t end up in more flames, hopefully. “Then we’ll just have to figure out how to control it.” He finally says, matter-of-factly, leaving next to no room to argue.  
Because Stiles usually always argued—usually.

Their places had switched in a matter of minutes, and neither one of them seemed to notice.

“How long do I have to do this? The water is freezing.” Stiles whines.

How long was exactly why Derek was still holding his hands in the water. Stiles was impatient, and Derek wanted to make sure hands stayed in the water for at least ten minutes. He was sure there was going to be a lot of complaining.  
“About nine more minutes. I’ll let you go when times up. I’ve got some burn-aid in a first aid kit somewhere—It’ll keep your skin feeling cool so the pain doesn’t flair up again so soon.”

Why would a werewolf who heals need a first aid kit? Almost everyone he knew was also supernatural.

Derek seems to hear Stiles’ thoughts, and sighs “I keep it just in case. There have been a few times where I haven’t healed.” And just in case skinny defenceless humans got hurt too, always insisting on coming along when things got dangerous.

“Nine whole minutes? I feel like my fingers are going to fall off.” Stiles huffs, grimacing at the thought of just that—frost-bite accompanied. Why did his brain always jump to the worst case scenario? Realistically, he knew why; Anxiety. Still, it didn’t stop him from wondering.

“Just be glad my water is up and running?” Derek offers, grip on Stiles’ wrists loosening a little bit “Otherwise, you’d be in a whole world of pain right now.”

“I was in a whole world of pain a few minutes ago—your water isn’t that special.” Stiles sasses, bottom lip in a pout as he stands there—stuck with Derek in his space. “What? You don’t trust me to keep my hands in the water?”

Derek chuckles, and shakes his head “Would you trust you? If I had it my way, you wouldn’t be left unattended, ever—but Scott wants you to have your privacy.”

If Stiles could, he’d cover his heart with his hands in mock surprise “Oh shucks, he’s so good to me, and you’re just plain old mean.” He mumbles, letting his head hang loose on his shoulders—slumped in defeat. After all their concern and fear, they’d finally gotten through to him. He was a danger to the people around him. He saw that now.

“Stiles…” Derek attempts, but he’s only met by a shake of Stiles’ head in response. He opens him mouth to try again, but quickly reconsiders and closes it with an audible sound.

So they stand there for the remainder of the nine or so minutes they had left, in complete and utter silence, all that could be heard was the loud sound of running water—and for Derek, the troubled beat of Stiles’ stressed heart.

“It doesn’t hurt.” Stiles insists finally, as Derek shuts off the water with one hand.

“I’d want to hope so—there’s a reason for that.” Derek hums, gesturing down to the hand that was still gripping his wrist. He’d been siphoning away the pain this whole time—It was second nature to him, to take away pain like this. Deaton had taught him how to do it when he was young, when he was the Hale Family Emissary. 

Stiles watches in wonder as veins of black trail up Derek’s arm—and his other hand reaches out, wanting to trace the veins—but he stops himself and instead moves the hand to the back of his own neck, rubbing nervously as he clears his throat “Not your average party trick…” He notes.

Derek nods in agreement, and finally releases his wrist. The lack of pain wouldn’t last forever—but it gave him some time to find his first aid kit. He bends down and opens up the cupboard under the sink, hoping maybe it was in there—but all he finds is the shopping bag full of bags that he always failed to take along when he went grocery shopping, and cleaning supplies.

Things were simpler before he remodelled. He lets out a frustrated huff, and climbs up off the ground now—surprised to find no Stiles beside him. He’d migrated to the living room and was sitting down on the leather sofa—looking lost in thought. Maybe it was best if he left him to think for a little while.  
While he searches for his med-kit for pesky humans and rare injuries that don’t heal.  
He heads to the winding staircase and begins to head upstairs—there was a walkway up there now—and a wall around what had been his room.

It wouldn’t be in there—so he heads further down the walkway, and into the next room—the brand new bathroom. He vaguely remembers moving some stuff up here when the renovations were complete, and just hopes the med-kit was among it all. He manages to find it underneath the sink in there—buried under a few other things.  
“Found it—“ He calls out, not actually used to having company like this. Still, he was trying.

When there was no response from Stiles at all, he sighs, and begins his decent back downstairs, med-kit shoved under his arm.  
Stiles hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch, he still looked well and truly lost in thought, almost like he was somewhere else entirely, and Derek wasn’t sure if he wanted to interrupt.

Still, he kneels down in front of the boy, and sets the med-kit down beside him on the couch. He carefully opens it, and through a little bit of digging, manages to find the small sachet of burn-aid, which would cool and soothe his skin, minimising pain.  
If the burns didn’t settle though, he decides he’d call Melissa, for proper medical attention.

“Hand.” Derek calls, less of a request and honestly more of an order.  
Stiles obeys without thought, giving Derek both of his hands even though he had only asked for one.

Derek carefully applies the gel to Stiles’ skin, wraps his wounds, and then leaves him to his thinking while Derek takes Stiles’ bags upstairs to the spare room, so that Stiles could just go upstairs and rest without worrying about much else, however, when he comes back downstairs, He finds that Stiles had fallen asleep on the sofa, slumped awkwardly but looking peaceful, despite his bandaged hands.

Derek sighs, but just grabs a throw blanket for him. This could be his space tonight—Derek didn’t mind the sofa smelling of Stiles, at least temporarily. Once he’s covered, Derek excuses himself to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I guess?

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave feedback. It helps us improve!


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